


A Uniquely Portable Magic

by Sigridhr



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: But Worse, Childrens Books, F/M, bucky doesn't know what's going on, magic?, not a Harry Potter AU, spoilers for your childhood
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-01-22
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:21:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22353262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sigridhr/pseuds/Sigridhr
Summary: You know what they say, there's nothing like a good book to bring two people together.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Darcy Lewis
Comments: 10
Kudos: 90





	A Uniquely Portable Magic

**Author's Note:**

> This fic will have minor spoilers for a great number of classic (primarily children's) novels. I promise not to spoil anything new. 
> 
> This chapter has minor Harry Potter spoilers. Also Darcy owns a copy of the Philosopher's Stone and not the Sorcerer's Stone for whatever reason makes you happiest - either she received it as a gift from England or she's actually Canadian and just did her degree in the US. I just thought Bucky should read the original and also I object to the Sorcerer's Stone on principle. /controversial Harry Potter opinions.

_Books are a uniquely portable magic_ – Stephen King

...

It started, as most things do, with an innocuous comment. 

“Yer a wizard, Bucky.”

“I’m a _what_?” He couldn’t tell if it was meant to be a compliment of some sort, (learning new slang was an odd, constant uphill battle). He also wasn’t sure why the bad accent was strictly necessary, or why passing Darcy, a woman he barely knew, a bottle of rum she’d watched him pilfer from behind the bar warranted being a _wizard_ in any way. In short, Bucky had questions that Darcy was too busy inexplicably pissing herself to answer. He looked at Steve hopefully and hopelessly all in one, and Steve just chuckled.

“It’s a book, Bucky. Harry Potter.” 

“Is this another one from your list?” 

“It’s good,” Steve said companionably. “You should read it.”

“You should,” Darcy said, getting her giggles under control and pouring out way more rum than was generally expected in a rum and coke. Bucky eyed her warily.

“If it doesn’t make your eyes water, why drink it?” She said blandly in response to his look. “Besides, you guys need like enough to down an animal to get a cool social buzz. Like Legolas. Add that to your list if you haven’t already.” 

“I don’t know what’s happening,” Bucky said, very honestly. 

“I think that’s the problem,” Darcy replies. “Pop culture - you should think about catching up.” 

“I have,” Bucky said defensively. “There’s just a lot of it.” 

“Well put Harry Potter higher on your list. Better yet, the top. Then you’ll get all my jokes.” Darcy handed him a rum and coke and true to form, his eyes watered. Steve just sipped politely, looking sober and rather amused. Bucky wondered absently if his teeth were supposed to vibrate like this. 

“But what is it?” Bucky asked again, once the world had stopped spinning quite so much.

“A book,” said Steve and Darcy as one, with a sort of fervor that suggested it was more than just _a_ book.

The most Bucky could really manage was to squint manfully, as Darcy excitedly started talking about something to do with huffing poofs to Steve.  
The evening became something of a blur after that, with the endless throbbing of whatever “music” Tony had put on echoing around them. Bucky focused on Darcy, who he learned was a terrifying bartender and a happy drunk, and tried to follow a convoluted explanation of a character called “serious” who was apparently a dog wizard and a witchcraft school with a sports team that used too many balls and had fat women guarding doors. 

“And they have to defeat Voldemort who is basically a wizard supremacist,” said Darcy earnestly, looking like she honestly believed that Bucky understood her. He was grateful, but also confused. “Like Hitler,” she said, helpfully. “But, you know, with a snake face. And magic.” 

“I’ll read it,” he said politely, quietly meaning to do no such thing.

“Hell yeah you will,” Darcy said, doing a slightly wobbly fist pump. “You can have my copy. But don’t like drop it in the bath or anything. It’s the original cover.” 

“Why would it wind up in the bath?” he wondered aloud.

He vaguely remembered the conversation in the morning when he woke up in a puddle of his own drool with a well-worn copy of _Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone_ next to him. Blearily, and finding nothing else to do after a shower, a nap, a lot of aspirin and breakfast, he gave up and started to read. 

…

Steve shoved Bucky’s feet off the end of the sofa and sat down. Bucky contemplated pointing out that there were three other places to sit in the room, but instead just tucked his feet up under himself and scowled as dramatically as he could manage with a headache. Steve, it seemed, hadn’t lost his old habit of searching out body heat and sticking close like a burr. It was less endearing now that Steve took up most of the sofa. 

“What bit are you at?” Steve asked, more excited than a 90 year old superhero really should be about this sort of thing. 

“This book is for children,” said Bucky pointedly, as if he hadn’t been reading it for three hours.

“It’s about a _wizard school_ , Buck.” 

“It’s ridiculous. They can’t just let children wander around a dangerous forest with no supervision,” said Bucky, flipping the pages in annoyance. “And Malfoy’s a real jerk. I’m hoping he gets eaten by whatever is killing these unicorns.” 

“Hmm,” said Steve, noncommittally. 

Bucky groaned and let his head fall back onto the arm of the sofa with a thunk. “The bastard lives, doesn’t he?” 

“I’m not spoiling it!” Steve said, throwing his hands up. “Is that Darcy’s copy, anyway? How’d you get a hold of it?”

“I have no idea,” said Bucky. “I don’t remember.” 

Steve looked speculative, but said nothing. 

Bucky rolled his eyes and gave him a shove with his foot. “It’s just a book, Steve. The girl is terrifying.” 

He was certain he heard Steve snicker. “She’s hardly terrifying. Afraid of a girl?”

“This one?” he replied. ”Yes. And you should be too. I’m pretty sure she was trying to poison us.”

“And herself,” Steve pointed out. 

“All the more reason to be worried.” 

Steve laughed, tapping Bucky on the knee and rising to his feet. “You should get to know her. You’d like her. I remember a time when you’d’ve been impressed by any girl who could drink you under the table.” 

“Yeah, well,” said Bucky warily, “times have changed.” 

“Not that much. You were always a soft touch,” said Steve flippantly as he left the room. “Enjoy the book. I’ve got the second one when you’re done.” 

“I’m not reading two of these,” Bucky said aloud to the empty room. “They’re for children.”

By the end of the week he had, and he’d started on the third. 

…

He was at the good bit of _The Prisoner of Azkaban_ and far too invested in Buckbeak’s wellbeing when the quinjet landed. Natasha looked at him knowingly and she smirked. 

“They save Buckbeak and Sirius by going back in time,” she said. 

He nearly threw the book at her and Steve looked thoroughly unimpressed. “Why are you spoiling the books?” 

“Payback,” Natasha said, grinning like a wolf. “Barnes knows what he’s done.” 

In truth, Bucky did know and felt as though he’d gotten off easy. He begrudgingly left the copy of the book on the jet, trotting slightly to catch up with the rest of the group. They’d landed in a surprisingly suburban area, following a SHIELD tip-off about some kind of super-powered related activity. A bunch of SHIELD operatives were sitting in a black SUV across the way looking thoroughly conspicuous. 

Not, Bucky supposed, any more than they did. He was carrying a lot of guns for a cul-de-sac. 

They wound up in a house (number 16) which had a meticulously neat screened porch out front and a lawn that real estate photographers would probably kill for. Bucky wondered, not for the first time, what exactly he was getting into. Details about the mission had been sparse, which was very rarely a good thing. When the door opened it was a thin, slightly pinched looking woman who was unusually grey who answered – though whether it was fear at what had happened or fear at the fact that they all looked like people who killed people for a living wasn’t precisely clear. 

“He’s inside,” she said, in a strained tone, and ushered them in. 

The inside was similarly meticulous, with a floor that despite the crisis still looked freshly vacuumed and rather lovely crown moulding. At least it was meticulous, until they rounded the corner and came upon the remains of a cupboard which had been blown to smithereens. The debris formed a distinctive semi-circle around what had once clearly been a storage cupboard. In the middle of the charred wood and warped hinges, was a spindly little boy, crouched down with his hands tucked to his chest, in an oversized t-shirt. 

“I haven’t touched him,” said the woman. “I don’t know what happened.” 

“We’re here for a blown out cupboard?” Tony asked derisively. 

It was then that they boy shrieked, and the whole house seemed to shake in its very foundations. Plates leapt up off the counter and crashed to the floor, skittering outward and away from the boy. Bucky could just make out something thin and wooden clasped in his hand. Tony dropped his faceplate at once, powering up his weapons but keeping his hands lowered at the boy’s feet. A deep, worrying crack appeared in the wall behind them and the upper floor of the house gave a frightening groan. The boy’s mother flung herself under the kitchen table with a shriek. 

“Hey, hey,” Steve said gently, inching forward towards the boy. 

“Uh, no, bad plan, Rogers,” said Tony. “Do not approach the monster child.”

“He’s not a monster,” the boy’s mother said, weedily from under the table. “He found something… We tried to take it off him, and then _this_.” She spread her hands to encompass the destruction in their kitchen. 

“You’ll need to be more specific than ‘something’,” Natasha said, her tone calm and flat, but Bucky could see that she was poised to attack as soon as needed. His own fingers twitched to grab his gun, but he couldn’t quite bring himself to point one directly at a little kid. Steve was still inching forwards, his hands outstretched like he was approaching a particularly nervous dog. Which, Bucky thought to himself, the kid sorta did remind him of. 

“I don’t know, a stick.” 

Bucky began to have a bad feeling. He was used to bad feelings – there had been a time when most of Bucky’s feelings could be described as bad, but this one was definitely ominous. He did not like ominous feelings. They were usually right. 

“Steve,” he said, warningly. “Careful.” 

Steve’s hand reached out and touched the boy, and all at once the boy gave a great shudder and uncurled. In his hands he did indeed have a stick – although it seemed more accurate to call it a _wand_. The wand shot out a bright beam of red, throwing Natasha off her feet and into a wall and then scorching a dark line across the ceiling. Bucky moved immediately to cover her, and was relieved to see she was already getting to her feet, swearing furiously under her breath. He pulled out his gun, taking careful aim at the wand and waiting. 

The wand seemed to have a mind of its own, if the terrified expression on the boy’s face was any indication, and it jerked with such ferocity it seemed to pull his whole body around like a limp ragdoll. He was rail thin and pale, with wide green eyes behind large, round glasses peering wildly at each of them in turn. 

“I can’t make it stop!” he wailed. 

Steve and Tony flanked him, moving in one, coordinated effort without even needing to speak. Steve tackled the boy with surprising gentleness, covering his head and curling around him protectively as Tony deftly plucked the wand from his fingers and snapped it in half. 

“What --” 

“Of all the --”

“Are you _insane_ \--” 

Tony looked smug. “Problem solved,” he said. 

“You could have made it infinitely worse,” Natasha said tonelessly in a way that made it remarkably clear how stupid she thought he was. 

“Yeah, well,” Tony said blandly, though he was twisting the remnants of the wand back and forth in his hands, eyeing it curiously to figure out how it worked. “It’s brave if it succeeds, right?” 

“And if it fails we all die,” said Steve furiously. “And I posthumously will ensure you’re branded an idiot.” 

The boy wrenched himself from Steve’s arms and skittered back against the wall, panting wildly and staring at them in what was clearly abject terror. 

“So, kid,” said Tony after a moment of silence. “Where’d you find the magic stick?” 

…

The debrief was long, and Bucky spent most of it out on the porch breathing in the fresh air. Children weren’t exactly his specialty, but Tony had a surprising knack with them and Steve was good with everyone so he was happy to let them handle it. But the boy’s mother – Daisy, – offered them all tea and managed to wrangle him back inside. The boy was called Lawrence (although his mother kept calling him Larry), and found the wand in what they were fairly certain was an old crash site of some description out in the woods. He expected Tony had already got a drone of some sort checking it out, and he was equally certain that’s where the SUV out front had sped off to. 

Still, Larry seemed shaken but generally fine. There was something still nagging at him in the back of his mind, however, and he hadn’t quite managed to shake the ominous feeling that he’d missed something. He watched Larry carefully, and the boy’s bright green eyes stared warily back at him. 

There was a scar on the kid’s forehead. He could barely make it out under his fringe. 

“Why’d you blow the cupboard?” he asked. Larry jumped, a biscuit halfway to his mouth. 

“Oh,” he said. “I like to go in there and think sometimes.” 

“You think in a cupboard?” Bucky asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He practically lives in there," added Daisy. 

“It’s quiet,” said Larry, sheepishly. His fringe shifted as he tilted his head and Bucky could see the scar on his forehead clear as day. He stared for a very long time before clearing his throat. 

“Uh, where’d you get the --” he gestured at his forehead. 

“Oh,” said Larry, flattening his fringe down with his hand as Daisy scowled at him. “Car crash.” 

Bucky blinked. This... was _not fucking happening._

… 

He knocked on the door with slightly more force than was strictly necessary. Then, he knocked again. He was surprised when the door knocked back. 

“I have your book,” he growled. 

“Great, you can wait two minutes for me to put some pants on,” came the reply through the door.

He could, of course, wait two minutes. He just didn’t want to. “Let me in.” 

Darcy pulled open the door, tugging a pair of fleece leggings up as she did and scowled at him. “Fine. Give me my book.” 

Bucky put a foot out so that she couldn’t shut the door. “I want to talk to you. I want to know how you did it.” 

She looked startled, then a little alarmed, and he pulled his foot back immediately and took a step backwards. Steve was right, he was a bit of a soft touch. But still, she opened the door a crack wider and leant her hip against the frame, watching him curiously. 

“So, what exactly have I done?”

“The kid,” he said. “Larry.” 

She blinked owlishly at him. “Does this have something to do with the book? There isn’t a Larry in the book.” 

“I know there isn’t a Larry in the book,” he snapped. 

“Right, well, who’s Larry then?” 

“The kid!” 

“No, that’s Harry.” 

He contemplated, for a split second, throwing the book at her. She did, however, honestly look confused, and he started to wonder if there wasn’t something slightly insane in accusing a young woman with no apparent powers of laying a bizarre trap designed to sort-of act out the plot of a book she’d leant him. But also, it didn’t make _sense_ and he didn’t know who else to accuse. 

“We were on a mission and there as a kid, Larry, who was sort of like _Harry_ ,” said Bucky, realising instantly that this was one of many sentences that sounded much stupider aloud. 

There was a moment of silence and then Darcy collapsed into giggles. 

He bizarrely wished he’d brought Steve. Not that he’d ever needed Steve to talk to women for him, but he still felt so far out of his depth with this girl – this _insane_ , impossible girl who was giggling at him and had given him a book that had come to life – that he didn’t know what else to do. 

“You met a boy named _Larry_ who had magic powers?” she managed to get out between giggles. “Please tell me he was a Hufflepuff.” 

“Well he wasn’t a Ravenclaw,” Bucky said flatly.

This set her off again and he stood somewhat helplessly as she nearly collapsed with laughter in her doorway. He was still awkwardly holding the book. 

“And you think it was me? You’d better come in,” she said at last. “I want to hear all of this.” 

“In?” He sounded a bit like a startled schoolboy and he hated himself for it. He didn’t even particularly _like_ this girl. In fact, when he thought of her confusion and a sort of mild annoyance was mostly what came to mind. But on the other hand, the book had been good (if flummoxing, at least as far as Larry was concerned), and there was something captivating about the whole _intensity_ of Darcy. He felt like every conversation with her was a bit like drowning and if he didn’t swim hard enough to keep up he’d go under. 

He tried to ignore the memory of Steve’s knowing smirk. He was hardly going to date a girl who wore _leggings_.

But he was definitely going to talk about Larry because he absolutely needed to talk to someone about it and he wasn’t going through the embarrassment of bringing it up with anyone else. 

Darcy’s apartment was messy and chaotic, and surprisingly full of books. They filled several bookshelves and spilled out onto the floor in odd piles, were stacked on countertops and little towers next to the sofa. And there were mugs on nearly every surface. 

“How many mugs do you _own_?” he asked. 

“Not enough,” she muttered. “I keep having to wash them.” 

Bucky stared at her. “That is usually how cups work.” 

“Scintillating,” she said, sarcastically. “Just for that, no tea for you and you can wash a mug in penance. Now sit.” She gestured to the couch. “Tell me about Larry.” 

He did. She looked thoughtful at the end of it, and thumbed through her copy of The Philosopher’s Stone contemplatively. 

“It’s probably just a coincidence,” she said, at last. 

“A coincidence?” 

“A weird one, I’ll grant you. But I mean, weirder stuff does happen.” She shrugged. “Look at Thor – I’d’ve put down good money that he was fake once, but I’ve seen what he can do. There are alien worlds, alien technology, all kinds of madness. In the end, you met a kid named Larry who had a scar. There are probably loads of those.” 

She was right, of course, but it wasn’t a satisfying answer. She smiled at him, almost as if she could read his train of thought. 

“I take it you liked the book then?” 

“Mostly,” Bucky said. “I’m on the third one,” he added sheepishly. 

“Oh man,” she said with a grin, leaping to her feet and pulling the fourth book from the shelf. “You are in for one hell of a ride. Shit gets real in book four.” 

It wasn't until he got home that he remembered he went to return the book and be done with her. Somehow he’d wound up with three more that Darcy had handed him to read and told him to come back and talk about when he was done. 

Steve was going to have a fucking field day with this.


End file.
